


JayDick One-Shots

by dandylionsummer



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Injury, Loss of loved one, Make Outs, Smut, batbros, protective little brothers, robins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandylionsummer/pseuds/dandylionsummer
Summary: A collection of JayDick one-shot pieces.Compiled from previous archiving platforms.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. Tryst

“God, Jay,” Dick says as he comes up for air. Their rooftop tryst becoming overly heated, despite the almost-freezing temperatures.

“Mm,” is all Jay contributes as he nips along Dick’s jaw when the older man tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his neck, in an effort to capture more oxygen from the frost-bitten air.

Jason’s hands drop from where they are holding Dick’s waist, and Dick’s head immediately snaps back up, his hand striking out, grabbing Jason roughly by the forearm.

“I swear if you leave me right now like you did last time…” There is so much warning in his voice.

“Heh,” Jason grins a little, somehow both apologetic and proud of himself at the mention. “I had a thing,” is all he says by way of explanation.

“Yeah? And I’m, what, like your pep rally before a murderous rampage?”

Jason can see the seed of anger being sown by the perceived spurn. Dick isn’t exactly wrong, although he definitely knows better than “murderous rampage”, but regardless, Jason doesn’t take the bait. He’s _not_ going to let tonight go down an argumentative pathway. No way. Not when the alternative is so everything he’s been thinking about since the last time they made out on a rooftop…And the time before that.

“You’re the only thing on my schedule tonight, Dickiebird.”

And Jason’s grin goes from a little purposefully-shitty to a lot of purposefully-sexy.

Dick sees his game. Alarms sound at his intentions. He’s well aware of where they are headed.

“I will kick your ass if you’re lying to me,” is all he says, grabbing two fistfuls of Jason’s leather jacket and yanking him forward, against his lips.

“Mmm,” Jay says into the kiss, and then when they pull apart a couple seconds later, “no doubt.”  



	2. He's gone, Jay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was wrong. Not just wrong, but bad wrong.

“What’s up Blue Bir–Hey! Where are you–HEY!”

All ten of Jason’s digits shot out, wrapping around the quickly retreating vigilante’s arms, stilling him; one hand on a bicep, the other on a forearm, not letting the other get near that ledge over which he would no doubt disappear with no chance of Jason catching up. _“Where are you going??”_

There was no irritation in Jason’s emphatic words, only confusion. This didn’t make any sense. Just last week, it was Jason who had been randomly barraged by his pseudo older brother’s company on more occasion than one. So why now would his sudden (and rather innocuous) appearance cause such a hasty flight?

While Jason didn’t always welcome the spontaneous company he received from his sidekick-days predecessor, it was never really spurned either. He might not always have been nice about it, but “nice” wasn’t really something that anyone would expect from him anyway. Regardless, a little snark never stopped Dick. He was not one to shy away from misdirected or unearned hostility. His usual custom was to simply ignore it, quipping away, and eventually get whatever it was that he wanted out of the encounter, be it intel, assistance with a task of dubious moral implications, a promise to attend a certain manor house for a certain butler’s annual birthday celebration, y’know, the usual requests.

But this? Running away before Jason could even say hello? This was not normal behavior. And worrying as that was on its own (and yeah, Jason does worry about them), the look on Dick’s face, or at least the brief flash that he had seen before Dick tried to turn tail and run, was the clincher. Something was wrong. Not just wrong, but _bad wrong_.

“Dick, what is it?” Not taking a second for granted and getting straight to the point (because let’s face it, it’s very likely that he could be surrounded by a smoke veil at any moment now with Nightwing vanishing without a trace) he somewhat roughly turned his brother to face him. The physical confrontation was forced but his words were gentle and hushed, speaking as though to a wild animal prone to being spooked easily.

Dick resisted half-heartedly as Jason turned him, attempting to twist his forearm out of his younger brother’s grip, but giving up quickly. Jason had strength, but Dick also wasn’t trying which was worrying in its own right. Giving up the fight? Yeah, that’s definitely not the stubborn and righteous jerk that Jason had known for half of his life.

Upon turning, Dick’s head angled down and sweaty bangs fell into his face as he stared at the ground, not bothering to look up into the red helmet before him and not addressing the scrutinizing man behind it. Jason took this opportunity to quickly assess.

As his eyes swept across and took in the full shock of Dick’s appearance– dark circles under the mask, sallow skin, creases of pain or worry, sickly unease, and the most alarmingly unnatural downturn to his mouth (one that Jason would not even have previously thought physically possible)– he felt his worry rise exponentially, approaching something that felt a lot more like panic. “What happened.”

The older man didn’t look up. He didn’t say anything or even move. This was so unlike Dick and Jason was at a loss momentarily, quickly considering the possibility of a body-snatcher scenario or the slightly more likely shapeshifter threat. But no. No identify thief would fabricate such a disheveled and inaccurate version of their target.

“Dick.”

After a beat and still no response, Jason grabbed the blue-striped shoulders and shook firmly, once. “DICK.” He was more insistent. He refused to be shut out like this. When Dick tilted his head and raised his eyes up, Jason felt a weight drop into the pit of his stomach. His eyes widened fractionally, his nostrils flared, and his jaw set, teeth clenched, behind his mask, as if to brace himself for the inevitable impact. Although he needed to know what the hell was going on, he feared the possibilities, as well. He was suddenly terrified.

“He’s gone, Jay,” Dick finally whispered, his voice barely audible and trembling badly.

Jason felt his heart seize.“Who–”

“Bruce. He’s gone,” and the look on Dick’s face and the erratic shaking of his breath, the raw sound of his voice and the hunch of his shoulders were all good enough reasons for Jason to justify what he did next. Protectiveness. Comfort. Never mind that Dick had just dealt him an impossible blow of information that he had no idea how to process.

His arms encircled Dick’s body then, pulling him in as close as he could, his hand guiding the back of Dick’s head so that he could rest against Jason’s shoulder and Jason tilted his own to mirror the action. He squeezed Dick so damn hard, feeling his older sibling’s body tense and shake and repeat.

As he held Dick, a million questions surfaced in his mind, some of them repeating with increasing demand for answers–How? What had _happened?_ Who did it? When? _How?_ With what? How? _Who? HOW?–_ but he quickly decided to compartmentalize the shit out of this situation because he was not going to be able to work through everything here. On a random Gotham rooftop.

With care for the person he was embracing, Jason slowly began to pull away. Dick didn’t stop him or seem much affected by the change. He just stood there and looked up at Jay’s helmet, still looking like shit. Unstable shit, at that.

“Okay,” Jason started, and wow, he hadn’t anticipated his voice to come out all hoarse and strained.

He cleared his throat with a cough.

“Okay,” he started again. “No more crime-fighting for the night,” he said tentatively, watching Dick’s face for signs of a fight or his trademark stubbornness. Seeing none, he continued. “Come with me.”

Jason was somewhat surprised when Dick just followed him over to the edge of the rooftop, half expecting him to remain in place or to run and jump off the other side of the building. When they reached the edge, Jason surveyed Dick’s state one more time, and not seeing a fire escape, held open his arm in a gesture of invitation reminiscent of Tarzan. “You’re not looking so great, want to ride with me?” His free hand reached to his leg for his grappler.

Dick cast a look at Jason, brow slightly furrowed in the middle– mildly indignant– that could only serve to question the seriousness of the offer.

“Right,” Jason said, feeling dumb for thinking that Dick wasn’t fully capable, and also feeling embarrassed that the offer belied his unquestionable concern. “Just follow me,” he said, shooting off and swinging away as quickly as possible.

—

They had arrived at Jason’s apartment soon after and Jason was thankful that Dick had unlocked himself somewhat, so to speak, and had immediately begun to provide Jason with all of the information that his questions sought. He was also secretly thankful that Dick was opening up a little about his feelings. This? This would be no easy hurdle to overcome. Somewhat cognizant of the fallout that would besiege himself when (and if) the time came that he successfully processed all of this information, Jason couldn’t even imagine the depth of horrors that would be in store for Dick.

Dick owed and was owed so much more to and by Bruce than any of them. At this point, there was no part of his personality or self that hadn’t been shaped somewhat by the man, be it a positive or negative influence. Bruce had raised him, plain and simple. At one time or another, Bruce had been a lifeline for all of them, but for Dick? Had he ever stopped being one?

“So, Tim thinks he’s still alive?” Jay said, carefully handing Dick a mug of hot coffee.

“Yeah,” Dick said, accepting the cup from his seat on the couch.

Jason surveyed him for a moment. Dick seemed…alright, considering, right now. He was responsive, informative, and currently devoid of any blatant signs of a breakdown…

“But you don’t think so?” Jason ventured, softly, after a moment. He didn’t want to make Dick answer, but he kind of had to know.

Dick glanced up at Jason before returning his gaze into the cup of steaming black liquid that he cradled in his hands. His face was solemn, but it looked like he was struggling with something, too.

“I…don’t know,” Dick spoke slowly, contemplatively perhaps. “There’s a lot of evidence to the contrary, but Tim has raised some valid points.”

Jason didn’t say anything. He sensed that Dick wasn’t done and he did not want to risk influencing the direction of Dick’s thoughts before he reached the end of his response. A moment later, Dick continued.

“I just, I just don’t want to put my hope into something that could…” he trailed off. _Inevitably crush him fatally if it wasn’t true_ , Jason completed the sentiment in his mind. He understood, possibly better than most, the dangerous risk in hope.

Dick glanced up again, and Jason just nodded. He need not say more.

“What can I do?” Jason asked, suddenly, as if there was some solution. As if some resolve, hard work, and ingenuity could solve their problems outright.

It was then that Jay glimpsed a bit of the Dick Grayson that he knew and privately loved (and sometimes publicly hated). Dick leveled him with a look that was equal parts ‘you have got to be kidding me’, scrutinizing detective, and concerned older brother. “Jay…” he started. He didn’t say more, but Jason was pretty sure if he had to navigate towards Dick’s implications, the compass needle would be pointing towards ‘You’ve Got To Deal With This, Too’ Land.

“I’ll pick up some extra patrols,” Jason said, avoiding the insinuated point and Dick’s eyes slid away, not quite a roll, and went back to staring at nothing in particular.

“But…” Jason started, not really sure how to broach the topic, but knowing that it needed to at least be considered. Dick’s eyes found him once more, patiently awaiting his thought.

“It’s best that the world not realize…” Jason started slowly, gauging Dick’s reaction. Watching his brother closely for a tic or sign of some sort that he should just shut up…No, fuck that. It needed to be said. He sighed, not wanting to beat around the bush. “Dick, if anyone was meant to do it,” and there it was. Dick’s body tensed up as visibly as if he had just been hit by an invisible car.

“No.”

“Dick…”

“NO.”

“I know you don’t want to but thin–”

“I’ve got to go.”

Dick stood abruptly, placing the untouched coffee on the table before him, before heading for the window in which they had entered.

Dick raised his hand to replace the mask that had been removed. Before securing it, he gave Jason one last meaningful look, this time a little anger was simmering behind the gaze and yeah, that felt more familiar. “When you’re ready to deal with it, let me know,” he said. Then, a little more gently, “We need to stick together, Jay.” And he was gone, out the window, grapple popping into the wind.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Jason’s eyes slid closed as he pointedly avoided thought and tried to go to a meditative place, sidestepping the explosive boxes in his brain that contained new and damaging information (like “Bruce might be dead”, or “Bruce’s new kid-wtf?!” or “Fuck Bruce!” or “Isn’t this what you wanted before??” or “Didn’t we move on???”)..

A moment later, he opened his eyes again.

Yeah, this was a single malt kind of night.


	3. Excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're both too damned excited. 
> 
> Pre-smut.

“Wha-heh–stop,” and he can’t help the genuine laughter that comes out, as unwelcomingly uncharacteristic as it is. “What the hell are you _doing_ , Dickiebird?”

Dick pauses in his ministrations at the beguiled query. His mouth halts its assault on the underside of the taller man’s jaw where he was sucking and nipping with an undisguised enthusiasm. His hands also cease their maneuvers and it’s the hanging question as well as the unfamiliar mixture of unguarded amusement and disbelief displayed on the face before him that prompts Dick to return to his senses and assess the situation. He looks down into the nonexistent space between their bodies, curiously critical.

His hands are full of Jason. His left is gripping the underside of a heavily muscled thigh, lifting and holding it immobilized. He’s pulled it to the dip of his own waist, right above the sharp point of a hip bone, as if to urge Jason to wrap it around and position himself for the ride. His right, he finds, has a firm and insistent hold just below the swell of Jason’s ass on the other thigh, and Dick realizes, with surprise and embarrassment, that a moment before it had also been forcefully coaxing the leg upwards with the intent to secure it around his body.

He looks back up, somewhat sheepishly, caught in the ridiculousness that is his body’s behavior when his dick is given the driver’s seat. But it’s not completely apologetic. Jason sees his own amusement reflected there, but there are other glimmers, too. He sees lust, but that’s obvious considering the type of activity in which they had just been engaged. He also sees what appears to be a bit of smug, self-satisfaction. And _just_ as Jason identifies it, an affectionate smile still pulling at his own lips as he watches Dick watching him, Dick confirms it. One eyebrow slides upwards in a cocky expression that Jason remembers, fondly, that he used to despise. “You just get me so worked up, Jay,” Dick says, and his grin is 70% charming seductor and 30% shit eating. “I get excited.”

Jason has exactly enough time to release a sarcastic exhalation of air before Dick is back on him with an urgency that is like a survival instinct. Fuck or die. And yeah, fuck it, Jason thinks as he allows the older man’s force to knock him backwards into the wall once more. He’s pretty excited, too. Why hide it?

He pushes back, using the plaster wall that only slightly buckles under their weighty impact as leverage, and he hooks his other leg around, locking his ankles as they join at the small of Dick’s back.

Dick lets a lethal growl rip through his body as he thrusts Jason even harder against the flimsy, crumbling wall. He’s not pulling his punches in the foreplay tonight. But that’s okay. They’re both too damn excited.


	4. The Real Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Jay are an established thing, but the batfam doesn’t know. Dick is injured and Tim and Dami believe Jay did it. Angsty misunderstanding. Eventual fluffy feels.
> 
> This feels more like a concept than a fic. It’s weird when I write elongated things in the present tense…Not my usual.

_Gunfire. Lots of it._

_It’s everywhere and in the firestorm there is no distinct direction in which their instincts tell them to go. They can’t even locate a single shooter to take them out and clear a path. There’s too much burning and exploding wreckage and debris. A fucking minefield._

_“SHIT JUST MOVE!” He yells, pushing his partner forward, one hand clasped firmly on a bicep, so as not to lose–”NO!”_

_Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck_

_“Di–Nightwing! Can you hear me?? NIGHTWING WAKE UP!”_

_Jason kneels over Dick, who’s out cold or worse, shielding them from view and fire as best he can._

_His eyes scan Dick quickly, searching for the source of the injury, as his hand fumbles in his pocket for something he didn’t want to need but knew he someday might._

_He tears off his helmet. Trembling fingers plug the old communicator into his ear and press to activate._

_“THIS IS RED HOOD, I NEED HELP. NIGHTWING IS INJURED. WE’RE AT THE WHARF.”_

_Jason waits a beat, then two, holding his breath to keep himself from screaming or sobbing. His hand cradles Dick’s head, fingers ghosting over what appears to be a blunt force impact. Maybe during one of the explosions?_

_His leg is bleeding, as well. Looks like it took a shot or maybe some nasty shrapnel in the meat of the thigh. Jason doesn’t have time to find out right now, though._

_He jams his finger back into his ear. “HELLO?”_

_…dead air._

**_“PLEASE!”_ **

—

“Drake we’ve got to go,” _Damian says, the urgency in his voice pulling Tim’s attention immediately away from the his files._

_“What?” he asks, eyes widening as his sight travels from Damian’s pointing finger towards the flashing icon on the computer’s screen._

_Nightwing’s auto-distress signal. Activated by the tech in their suits whenever specific criteria were met: injury or destruction to the suit, dramatic change in monitored vitals, no muscle-motion sensed and no override to cancel the signal._

_“Get his coordinates.” He stands up, shoving off the table and knocking over his files. He tramples several as he maneuvers quickly across the floor towards their motorcycles._

_“Got them,” Damian assures, running ahead to his own bike. “Hurry.”_

_—_

_“..the hell…?” Tim and Damian look down at the burning devastation that was previously a row of warehouses on the Gotham wharf._

_“Just find him!” Damian yells, scared and impatient, his voice strangled with emotion as he leaps forward, launching himself into the scorched ruins._

_“Robin!” Tim whisper-shouts, grabbing after a handful of Damian’s cape, but missing. He runs to catch up. He’s worried about Dick as well, scared to death in fact, but he knows he needs to keep their hot-headed little brother safe. They need to slow down and move in a methodical manner. It’s very possible that they are not alone here and there is very likely that there is much more than meets the eye to this burning battlefield._

—

_“Dick, please…” Jason hunches over Dick, sniffling, as his options dwindle and his heart begins to acknowledge fear. “Please wake up.”_

_Jason’s ears perk up. It’s been quite some time since the last bullets were shot, but Jay doesn’t dare put his defenses down._

_He hears the pattern of feet crushing rubble and grinding iron into the ground. At least two pairs of them…_

_He takes a single steadying breath, closing his eyes, and for the first time he can remember in a long time, utters a silent prayer for someone’s safety._

_He rights himself then, kneeling up, and loads a new clip into his gun as he stands and turns to face the direction of his impending company._

—

_Damian and Tim spot Jason from yards away, through the spaces between the collapsed structures and the burning kerosene fires which don’t seem quite as volatile as they probably were not too long ago._

_He’s standing, readying a firearm. They’re ready._

_“DROP IT, HOOD!” Tim yells as he turns to face them. He notices then that Jason is not actually wearing the Hood’s helmet, only his red domino mask. Doesn’t matter though, because as they approach, they can see Dick on the ground below him, unconscious or…_

_“DROP IT AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP, TODD OR SO HELP ME I WILL KILL YOU. WITH THIS I HAVE **NO** QUALMS.” There is an edge to Damian’s voice and a look in his eyes that lets both Tim and Jason know that he is **not** exaggerating. The kid is practically vibrating with murderous intent._

—

 _They have it wrong. So fucking_ insensitively, _awfully wrong._

_Jason’s mind flounders momentarily, his tongue is tied in its own confusion between what to spit out. An insult? A threat? A challenge? A desperate plea to help? A statement of self-defense?_

_He quickly runs through his options considering the resources that have just arrived, and decides._

_He drops his gun, or more throws it at them like a different form of weapon, and gets the fuck out of there._

Even though it kills him.

_They don’t understand. He doesn’t have time to inform them. It doesn’t matter anyway. He just needs Dick to get to safety and get help. They can do this. They will._

_When Jason finally stops running, certain that he has not been pursued, he crumbles to the ground, wracked with sobs and feelings of failure and the most intense fear of his life._

—

It’s three days later. Dick is finally back at his apartment, of this he had insisted, and it’s the first night that Jay is able to see him since the incident.

They had spent their time talking and shamelessly cuddling and crying while reveling in each other’s well-being, and now, some hours later, Dick is asleep. Under the influence of several medications and some heavy painkillers, he’s out like a light within thirty minutes of downing the pills.

Jay has promised that he will stay, no matter what. And he is making good on that promise when he hears the apartment door open down the hall.

“Dick?”

He hears Tim call down the hallway. He’s probably here to check in and drop off a care package of home-cooked food from Alfred.

Jason sighs a little, weighing his options and possible outcomes as he hears the impending footsteps come towards the bedroom door.

He sticks with Plan A, aka _Be The Partner He Deserves_.

A quiet knock.

Then the door opens, slowly at first, and upon meeting mostly darkness, more quickly.

—

Tim lets himself in, as is his usual custom when visiting Dick whether announced or unannounced. He has keys, Dick always tells him, so use them. _“You’re always welcome, Timmy.”_

He closes the door with a quiet ‘click’ and locks the deadbolt once more.

When he turns around, he can see that the living room and adjacent kitchen are empty. It is likely Dick is in his room. Probably asleep.

He puts down the box that he is holding on the coffee table- food made with love by Alfred- and heads towards the hallway.

“Dick?” he calls, not too loudly, just in case he is asleep.

After a beat and no answer, Tim heads in the direction of Dick’s bedroom.

He pauses at the door, knocks softly once, and after hearing no answer pushes it open a crack a second later.

The room is dark, he must be asleep.

As Tim opens the door just a little more, to confirm that Dick is in fact okay and sleeping in his bed, his eyes catch the glow of a phone.

He swings the door open all of the way, stopping it just short of hitting the wall, the light from the hallway confirming what he believed he saw.

It’s Jason. In bed. With Dick.

—

Jason looks up from where he has been scrolling lazily across the news feed on his phone with his left hand, his right arm wrapped around Dick’s shoulders, hand resting with familiarity and comfort against the sleeping man’s collarbone. His head is tilted, laying against the top of Dick’s, and although Dick has to remain flat in bed and can’t roll to his side because of his injured right leg, he has nonetheless cuddled up to Jason as closely as possible in his sleep, his left leg hooked over and wrapping around Jason’s right.

Jason regards Tim silently. Not quite menacing, but also not really friendly.

Tim’s mouth purses and he motions for Jason to step out into the hall.

—

Of course Dick had explained that Jason was not the one who had injured him. When he had awoken, he had confessed to Tim and Damian that Nightwing had actually been working with Red Hood for a while now.

 _“Why?!”_ They had both balked.

 _“Because he’s family, and I trust him”_ was the simple answer given, and they had not pushed the topic then. There had been other priorities.

But now the final pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Tim.

His eyes narrowed a little bit as he put it together. He wasn’t upset, but he wasn’t exactly happy either. It’s not like he wasn’t without reason. Jason Todd was not exactly the most reputable of individuals…

Their eyes meet and Tim motions with a jerk of head for Jason to leave the room to come speak with him. He watches with a neutral expression as Jason seems to consider this, and then as he eventually begins to disentangle himself from Dick.

—

Tim begins to head back down the hallway, running some thoughts through his head about what he’d like to say. What he means to say…Is he apologizing? Issuing a warning? Both?

He pauses in his progress and takes a step back when he hears soft voices speaking.

“I swear I’m not leaving, I just need to piss. I’ll be right back.”

“You better,” Dick says, and it’s obvious from his voice that he is very doped up and tired.

“I will. Go back to sleep.”

Tim barely recognizes Jason’s voice, hearing him speak in that soft tone…

There’s a pause and Tim peeks around the corner just in time to see Jason lay a brief kiss to the side of Dick’s forehead. A satisfied smile crosses Dick’s face as he turns his head and closes his eyes once more.

Tim quickly steps back and takes a few quick paces down the hall so that Jason will not suspect his witnessing the tender moment. He wills the heat in his face away.

When he gets to the kitchen, he flips the light switch and waits five seconds before Jason appears behind him.

“Hey,” Tim starts, not really sure what to say, but knowing that he needs to say something.

Jason just raises his eyebrows.

“I’m,” Tim says slowly, waiting for Jason’s eye contact to continue, “sorry about our assumptions,” he finishes. He doesn’t exactly understand everything, but he knows that if this is a thing for Dick, he wants to be okay with it. And he wants for Jason to be okay with him, as well.

“Yeah, you know what they say about those,” is all Jason says, trying to play off the cascade of violent emotion that threatens to let loose if he lets himself think about how the rest of the ‘family’ obviously views him.

“Really,” Tim says, stepping forward. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

And now Jason really regards him for a moment. For as little as he knows this little shit, he does know that that–admitting he’s wrong– is a weighty offering.

“Olive branch accepted,” Jason says with a nod. He just wants Tim to go away now. He just wants to get back in bed with Dick and continue thanking every god he can think of for his boyfriend’s safety.

He’s about to turn away, done with the righteous puppy dog-eyed teen in front of him, when they are both are shocked still at the sound of approaching crutches.

Their eyes are both wide when they meet again. Tim glances backwards quickly, spotting the window, and his eyes dart back to Jason’s with a question. _Should I go??_

Jason considers the idea of Tim’s flight, but knows that it will actually just bring up a whole host of other things that he’ll have to lie about and try to explain. And he’s not doing that this time. Not with Dick.

He sighs loudly and shakes his head. He turns around just as Dick arrives at the kitchen.

“Tim?”

“Hey Dick, how are you feeling?” Tim says, kind of like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but like he’s trying to pretend that that’s just the way his hand looks…

“What are you doing here?” Dick’s brow is creased with confusion and suspicion. He glances between their faces, awaiting an answer.

“I, uh, came to drop off some food. From Alfred.”

Although likely, that’s not the answer Dick was looking for. He turns his gaze to Jason, waiting.

“We were just clearing the air, Dick,” Jason says, honestly, and he can see the slight hitch in the lines in Dick’s forehead where the unhappy suspicion of catching Jason speaking to Tim in secret turns into concern and worry.

He turns to Tim, sudden and appealing, “Tim, I,” but doesn’t get to finish whatever explanation he feels he has to give. Tim is there. Hugging him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, after a quick and careful squeeze. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s your life, Dick.”

And Jason watches as Dick looks taken aback by this. Tim’s acceptance of what he was afraid to admit to him and Bruce and Damian so powerfully moving. There are tears collecting in his eyes.

“Thanks, Timmy,” Dick whispers, dropping a crutch and wrapping an arm around Tim’s neck, pulling him back in for a crushing hug.

Jason catches Dick’s eyes over the top of Tim’s head, and they seem to exchange an understanding.

_This is it. The real thing._


End file.
